Boomboxes & Dictionaries
by the-misfortune-teller
Summary: [Sequel to You're Gonna Go Far, Kid] Derek turns up unannounced following the events of You're Gonna Go Far, Kid. Stiles might be a little more pleased about that than he's letting on. Things happen. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is a sequel to my other fic, _You're Gonna Go Far__, Kid_- I strongly suggest you read that one first for this to make sense! That said, I've been putting off uploading this fic here for quite a while thanks to getting a bunch of horrible PMs about my other fics. I finally decided that all the nice comments I got on my other work outweighed the asshole stuf so I'm finally uploading it! I hope people like it...

* * *

The bar is too loud, too hot, too crowded: everything Stiles loves about a Friday night. He's been dragged away from the bar, and his roommates, by a red headed guy with sparkling blue eyes and is currently grinding up against him on what the bar proudly refers to as a 'dance floor' and what Stiles has personally dubbed 'a slightly less sticky area of the floor with fake beech floor boards'. That's a bit too much of a mouthful though and he soon forgets all about dance floors and semantics when red headed guy grabs his hips and pulls him closer. Stiles raises his eyebrow and smirks when he feels the guy's semi erect cock brushing against his hip, and loops one arm around the back of his neck so he can pull him into a filthy kiss. OK, so the guy is cute, and he has no qualms about kissing him, but he just isn't doing it for Stiles in _that way_. As red headed guy returns the kiss, Stiles realises that no one had really done it for him since he went back to Beacon Hills four weeks ago. He blames that entirely on Derek. Stupid fucking Derek Hale and the quite frankly life altering sex they had.

"Uh, I think your cell is ringing," Red headed guy tells him, breaking their kiss and leaning close to shout in his ear.

Stiles digs in his pocket, raising an eyebrow when he sees that Toby was calling him. Toby who's supposed to be out on a date. He'd argued pretty badly with Toby a week after he'd come back from Beacon Hills when Toby had suggested they hit up the bar and 'have some fun'. Stiles had turned him down, turned him down for the third time that week, content to sulk in his room watching porn instead. For several days afterwards, he'd seriously questioned why he'd thought casually fucking one of his roommates was a good idea. Thankfully they've managed to resolve things, but they haven't slept together once in that time and if he's honest, he's pretty pleased that Toby has gone out on a date and probably won't be giving him the sad puppy dog eyes for the next couple of weeks.

He disentangles himself from Red Headed Guy and make for the door, flashing his hand stamp to the bouncer as he steps out into the cool night air to call Toby back; he picks up immediately, sounding annoyed and slightly panicky when he says Stiles' name.

"Hey man, what's up? Thought you were on a date tonight?"

"_He bailed. Look dude, this guy has turned up at our place. He, uh, looks kind of like that porn star you like, says he knows you._"

"Driving a black Camaro?" Stiles asks suspiciously.

"_Yes! You're coming home, right? He's kind of freaking me out._"

"Yeah, he does that to people. I'll be back in fifteen, I guess?"

"_Is he the guy you hooked up with when you went home last month?_"

"Maybe," Stiles replies vaguely. "I'll see you in a few."

Stiles ends the call and scowls at his cell. What the hell is Derek doing in Arcata? Yeah, OK, so he'd written down his address when he'd snuck out of Derek's apartment after their night together but he'd assumed that Derek would at least have had the sense to call first, rather than making a three hour drive and turning up unannounced. On a Friday night, no less. He sighs, jamming his phone back in his pocket and heads back into the bar, grabbing his jacket from where he's abandoned it with Hannah and Craig as he gives them his apologies and tells them he'll see them at home. He's hoping to slip away without Red Headed Guy noticing him but turns around to find him standing directly behind him.

"So, uh, look, I've gotta run," Stiles tells him, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry man, maybe another time."

"Michael," Red Head Guy replies, holding out his cell so Stiles can put his number in it. Stiles sighs and takes it, quickly entering a fake name and number before handing it back and rushing out of the bar. He isn't interested in hooking up with Red Headed Michael anytime soon, and is far more concerned about what would prompt Derek to drive all the way up to Arcata unannounced.

:::

The walk home has left him mostly sobered up, and the sight of Derek and Toby sitting awkwardly on the couch makes him wish that he was still drunk.

"So," He mutters, glaring at Derek. "You're here."

"Yeah."

"And why's that exactly?"

"I wanted to see you," Derek shrugs, shifting uncomfortably and glancing at Toby.

"Yeah, OK. I think I'm going to head out," Toby mumbles, getting to his feet and looking from Stiles to Derek. "Where are the others?"

"Talking about heading to Sidelines when I left," Stiles tells him, turning sideways to let Toby slide past him in the doorway.

"You going to be OK, right?" Toby asks in a hushed tone as he rests his hand on Stiles' upper arm and squeezes lightly. Stiles nods and gives Toby a quick hug before he leaves. "Text me if you need me," Toby adds, glancing back over at Derek one last time.

"You know they have these things called cell phones, right?" Stiles complains, pulling his own out of his pocket and waving it at Derek as though it will strengthen his argument. "You could have called or text me or something. Anything, really, instead of just turning up here out of the blue."

"I missed you," Derek mutters, sounding annoyed with himself.

"See, that right there? Something you could quite easily have told me in a text message," Stiles sighs, flopping down in the arm chair near the door and kicking off his boots. "You seriously drove for three hours to tell me you missed me?"

"You didn't say you lived with your 'friend with benefits'," Derek mutters, looking down at the floor. "That's the guy you talked about, right? The one that wants a relationship with you?"

"I don't tell you a lot of stuff Derek," Stiles yawns. "Why are you here really?"

"Like I said, I missed you. I wanted to see you."

"Derek, normal people don't drive three hours across the state to see someone they aren't really friends with and slept with once. Especially not at 1am," He yawns again and stretches his arms wide before continuing. "I'd say you've officially crossed over into stalker territory, but I think you earned all your creeper guy merit badges a long time ago."

"I was – I thought after that night, you might need someone to talk to. To talk about things with," Derek replies, hunching his shoulders and frowning.

"You thought you might have traumatised me with the sex?"

"You know, if you want me to leave, you can just say." Derek mutters, looking up at Stiles properly for the first time and scowling. "Instead of bitching at me until I go. I meant after what happened with Deucalion."

"I know what you meant and I'm fine. Just so we're clear, that was also something you could have asked me on the phone. You didn't need to drive all the way up here just to check on me."

Derek scowls again and goes quiet, glaring at the collection of empty tequila bottles in the unused fireplace. He looks genuinely hurt by Stiles' comments, and the more Stiles watches him, the guiltier he feels, because if he's honest, he's sort of missed Derek too. At least he thinks he's missed Derek; the more rational part of his brain is telling him he's just missing sex, not Derek in particular. In retrospect, sleeping with Derek hadn't been one of his brighter ideas because now Derek's sitting in front of him and looking thoroughly miserable, the old affection he once felt for him is rushing back. He wedges his hands underneath his legs to stop himself for reaching out for Derek's hand.

"Thanks for giving a shit," He mutters, throwing caution to the wind and slipping off the arm chair so he can sit down beside Derek on the couch. "I tried to talk to Scott about what happened. Just the stuff in the woods, nothing about the, um, the whole having sex with you thing. And now he just keeps blowing me off when I call. I don't think he knows what to say to me."

"Sorry."

"For?"

"You wouldn't have been dragged out in the woods if it wasn't for me."

"Huh. Been a while since I've seen that."

"Seen what?"

"The good old fashioned Derek Hale guilt complex," Stiles laughs, running his hand through his hair and smiling.

"Shut up Stiles."

"Make me?" Stiles grins again, bumping his shoulder against Derek's; the physical contact feels nice and he leans into him a little more. Derek just glares at him, glancing down at where their shoulders are pressed together and raising his eyebrow.

"No."

"So where are you staying?" Stiles asks, nudging Derek's knee with his own. "Or are you going to drive back home tonight? Now you've established I'm fine."

"Don't know."

"Look, it's –" Stiles pauses for a minute to check his watch "- nearly 3am, Wow. You can crash here if you want. Drive back in the morning; later in the morning, whatever."

"Your roommates won't mind if I sleep on the couch?" Derek asks sceptically.

"Nah, they'll be cool," Stiles shrugs. "You don't have to though. If you don't want."

"Don't want to what?"

"Crash on the couch," Stiles replies with a glance towards the ceiling as he presses his leg against Derek's and watches him intently. "You could..."

"Is that really a good idea?"

"Better than sleeping on the couch where my drunk ass roommates will wake you up in an hour's time. It doesn't mean anything."

"I don't know..."

"Dude, I used to share a bed with Scott all the time. It'll be fine," He stands up and watches Derek expectantly. "Look, either way, I'm going to bed. You do whatever you want."

Without waiting for an answer, he turns away from Derek and heads out into the hall way, smiling to himself when he hears Derek getting up from the couch and walking towards the door.

"You sharing a bed with Scott is different to sharing a bed with me." Derek grumbles as he follows Stiles up the stairs. "You're friends with Scott for a start," He goes so quiet for a second that Stiles has to glance over his shoulder to make sure he's still there. "You haven't had sex with Scott."

"That's what you think."

"Scott's straight," Derek replies with a roll of his eyes.

"And you're no fun," Stiles shrugs as he turns around and frowns at Derek. "Look, it's a queen sized bed. You can even put pillows down the middle if it makes you feel better."

"Why would I want to put pillows down the middle?"

Stiles doesn't reply, ignoring Derek as he tries to push his bedroom door open, giving it a kick when it inevitably sticks. As much as he loves living with his friends, their rent is cheap for a reason; namely their landlord not giving a fuck about basic maintenance and repairs on the basis that he only ever lets to college students.

"Why?" Derek asks again as he comes to a halt.

"How should I know? You've got this look on your face like you think I'm going to jump you all of a sudden. I'm not going to grope you."

Derek snorts at him and continues loitering in the hall while Stiles shrugs off his shirt and kicks dirty washing into the corner of the room. When it becomes clear that Derek isn't coming in to the room anytime soon, he glares at him.

"What?"

Derek shrugs, leaning on the doorframe and glaring into Stiles' room like it has offended him. "It smells like you and that guy in here."

"Look, you can pull that face and go back downstairs to the couch where 'that guy' and my other roommates will come home and disturb you any minute now, or you can get the fuck over it and sleep here."

Derek purses his lips for a second before pushing off the doorframe and sighing dramatically. "Fine."

"Fine," Stiles repeats blankly and pops the button on his jeans, pulling them off and sitting down on his bed. Derek very pointedly looks at the posters on the wall as he closes the door and leans against it. "You're being weird," Stiles grumbles, kicking his way under the comforter and blankets.

"No I'm not."

"So what's the problem then?" Stiles continues, yanking the comforter aside on the other side of the bed and nodding pointedly at the empty space. Derek scowls at him again and reluctantly sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping his back to Stiles. "Just please lie down. I want to go to sleep and your sulky great ass sitting on my bed looking all morose doesn't help."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Stiles," Derek sighs, keeping his gaze fixed on wall, because god forbid Derek ever actually make eye contact with someone when he's speaking to them. "You know how I feel about you. Felt about you. I don't know. Whatever. Just because this isn't a big deal for you doesn't mean that it isn't for me."

Stiles sighs in frustration and runs his hand over his face before stretching his leg out from under the covers and nudging Derek in the back. "I get it, OK? There's probably an pretty overdue conversation we need to have here but right now I'm tired and I just want to crash and the way I see it, we can have that conversation in a few hours when it's a socially acceptable time to be awake."

"A conversation," Derek repeats as he gets to his feet and finally shrugs off his jacket.

"Yes, Derek, a conversation. That's where two people say words to each other without threatening physical harm," Stiles replies with a smirk. "I realise it's an alien concept to you."

"Shut up."

"You shut up," Stiles counters, realising as he says it that it's a pretty feeble counter-argument. "You shut up until later on this morning when I'm awake enough to talk about this shit properly with you."

"Fine," Derek grumbles, undoing his jeans and pulling them off like the world's angriest stripper. "Fine. But just so you know, I still think this is a bad idea."

"You're a bad idea," Stiles smirks. "Now go turn the light off."

Derek does as he's told and comes back to lies down beside him and pulls one of the blankets free from the cosy little nest Stiles has made for himself; apparently actually getting under the comforter with Stiles is asking too much.

Stiles waits until Derek has stopped sighing and fidgeting in his ridiculous, dramatic way and clears his throat. "Um, Derek?"

"What?"

"It's not entirely one sided. The feelings thing. At least I don't think it is," with that, he rolls onto his side and away from Derek, pulling the tangle of blankets and comforter up over his shoulder. He hears a sharp little intake of breath and waits for Derek to respond. After a few awkward minutes, he feels himself starting to drift off to sleep and if Derek does reply, he misses it.


	2. Chapter 2

The noise of his roommates crashing through the front door wakes Stiles up less an hour later. He pulls the blankets up over his head and groans loudly.

"Are they always this loud?"

Derek's voice makes him jump; he's not quite sure how he's managed to forget that Derek is in his bed, but he has.

"Yeah, kind of. Sorry," He rolls onto his back and flicks on the lamp on his bedside table. "Were you pulling a Twilight?"

"What?"

"Watching me sleep," He clarifies with a grin, earning himself a scowl in response. He smirks at Derek once more for good luck and yawns again, closing his eyes and rubbing them roughly. He can feel Derek warily moving around beside him but keeps his eyes closed, hoping that his roommates are going to shut up and go to bed, rather than staying up until seven in the morning like they all had last Friday night.

"Your friend with benefits is talking about you," Derek tells him quietly; Stiles opens his eyes again and turns over to see that he's got his head cocked to one side as he listens to something Stiles can't hear. As Stiles watches him, he goes from looking vaguely put out to seriously pissed off.

"What is it?"

"They're talking about me now."

"So?"

Derek goes quiet and glares at the door; a few seconds later, there's a rhythmless knock, followed by Toby calling his name.

"Stiles!"

"Is sleeping," Stiles calls back, willing Toby to take the hint and go away.

"You never just sleep on a Friday night," Toby calls through the door, sounding frustrated. "You've got that weird guy in there, haven't you?"

Stiles sighs loudly and grabs his cell phone off the bedside table, texting Hannah and begging her to remove Toby from outside his room. A few minutes later, there's some scuffling and complaining from the hall way, followed by the sound of Hannah and Toby clattering back downstairs.

Derek must not be focusing his attention on whatever the hell the others are doing downstairs because he suddenly looks straight at Stiles, his green eyes bright as he stares at him. "You're not fine," he murmurs, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Hmm?"

"Earlier. You said you were fine. You're not."

"I'm always fine," Stiles mumbles. "You know that."

"You're lying."

"I am not."

"That's another lie," Derek tells him; his tone is gentle though, and there's none of the usual annoyance at being lied to behind his words.

"Whatever. I'm like 80% fine. Happy now?"

"A whole 80% huh?" Derek asks with a small, humourless laugh. "Sounds like you're doing great."

"What do you care? It's not like my being fine or not being fine affects you in any way, shape or form."

"I care. You know that."

"No, I really don't. Because for the last two years, you've acted like you hate me. Then, shocker, you've suddenly got feelings for me. Which I'm guessing partly influenced your absurd decision to drive all the way up here. So forgive me if I'm a little bit sceptical about you actually caring how I am."

"Have you talked to anyone about it?" Derek interrupts.

"Just Scott, like I told you before." Stiles sighs, fidgeting around as he tries to get comfortable. "And he doesn't want to know. I'm not exactly going to tell my dad, am I? He's already disappointed enough with me. Pretty sure he doesn't want to hear about how I killed someone."

"You had to..." Derek starts, a pained expression on his face.

"You know what? That doesn't really make me feel any better," Stiles tells him heatedly.

"Sorry."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"That stupid Derek thing you do. Where you apologise for stuff that's not actually your fault," Stiles complains, kicking Derek in the leg in a way that he hopes emphasises his point. "Could you just, not. It's not helpful."

Derek narrows his eyes and glares at him. "You shouldn't have been dragged into it though."

"What? Scott's werewolf crisis?" Stiles yawns. "What was I supposed to do? He's my best friend. Of course I was going to get involved."

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend if he won't talk to you about all this," Derek mutters. It's been three years, but there's still no love lost between him and Scott, Stiles remembers.

"Low blow, man," Stiles grumbles, punching Derek in the arm. "He's still my friend, he just doesn't know what to say. I wouldn't know what to say to him either if he phoned me up at random to tell me that he'd killed someone. How are you supposed to talk to someone once they've done something like that?"

"You still spoke to me," Derek replies quietly. "After I...after Peter. And Aiden."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Probably?" Stiles shrugs. "Or maybe not. I don't know."

"Did you talk to the guy who taught you the magic? About what it did?"

"He's not been around," Stiles tells him. "That's what he's like though; disappears for a few weeks at a time. You know what's weird though? I've tried doing it again since I came back, the magic, and it's never been as powerful as – as that night."

"Maybe it was a fear thing," Derek suggests; he might be facing Stiles, but he seems to be doing everything he can to avoid actually making eye contact with him. "Maybe you were able to do it because it was kill or be killed."

"Maybe," Stiles replies slowly. He thinks back to the night in the woods; something he's been avoiding doing since he came back up to Arcata. The funny thing is, he never felt scared that night, not for himself. If he felt anything, he'd felt annoyed at being dragged out into the woods when all he'd wanted to do was get drunk and yell at Derek. "Yeah, maybe that's it."

"Sure about that?"

"Not really, no," Stiles admits. He sighs again and rubs at his eyes; he's starting to feel more and more confused, more on edge the longer he lies beside Derek being asked gently probing questions about his emotional wellbeing. There's a long pause, an awkward silence starting to settle over them and Stiles starts to fidget in response, feeling uncomfortable just lying here looking at Derek. Just as he's about to open his mouth to make a joke or a snarky comment about how Derek has stupid hair, or anything really to break the silence, Derek looks up at him. He's wearing such a concerned, open expression that Stiles is a little taken aback and the stupid remark he'd wanted to make dies on his tongue.

"OK," Stiles breathes, twisting the corner of the blanket between his fingers. "OK, so maybe I'm not 80% percent fine, OK? Maybe it's more like 30% fine."

Derek doesn't say anything, just nods his head slightly in a 'go on' gesture.

"I – I can't stop thinking about it," Stiles continues haltingly. "About what I did." Much to his annoyance, he feels tears starting to prick as his eyes; he rubs hurriedly at his eyes before they can start to trickle down his cheeks. It's too late though, as Derek's already noticed and is looking even more concerned.

He turns over quickly and tugs the blankets up over his head, as though that will stop Derek from hearing him cry.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is soft and he feels him move closer to him, leaving just a few inches of space between the two of them.

"Derek, I said I'm fine."

Derek scoffs and reaches out, curling his hand around Stiles' bicep and squeezing gently. That's a bit more than Stiles can handle right now and as Derek tentatively rubs his arm with his thumb he starts to cry in earnest, curling in on himself and wiping his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand. He hears Derek murmur his name again as his grip on his arm tightens slightly and he quickly turns over, putting up no resistance when Derek pulls him into a cautious hug.

The feeling of Derek's arm wrapped around his shoulders just makes things worse; it takes him back to falling asleep in Derek's bed after everything that happened in the woods and he screws his eyes up, trying to chase away the images of Deucalion's death. As he sobs, fisting his hand in Derek's shirt and moving closer to him, Derek just hugs him tighter, making little shushing noises into his hair and rubbing his back.

There's a sudden, furious knocking at his bedroom door that's quickly followed by Toby shouting his name again; he exhales loudly in frustration, wanting nothing more than for Toby to get lost. He hears Derek sigh as he disentangles himself from his hug but ignores him, pushing off the bed and hurrying across the room to yank the door open, wiping tears from his cheeks as he goes.

"What now?"

"You were crying," Toby mutters as Stiles glares at him. "I could hear you."

"I'm fine. You don't need to check up on me." He's not going to dwell too much on the thought that in order to have heard him crying, Toby must have been standing right outside his bedroom door and really doesn't want to know what he was expecting to hear.

"You don't look fine," Toby continues, leaning closer and trying to peer over Stiles' shoulder and into the room. He stinks of tequila and is wearing the same mulish expression that usually leads to an argument between the two of them. "You look like shit."

"Thanks man, thanks a lot. Look, we're kind of in the middle of something here, so, uh, we'll talk tomorrow, yeah?"

"What's he done to you?" Toby demands, pointing unsteadily towards Derek. "You were fine earlier then he shows up out of nowhere and suddenly you're crying."

Stiles glances over his shoulder at Derek; he's sitting upright with the same oddly concerned expression on his face, looking as though he's not sure if he should intervene. Stiles turns his attention back to Toby, who's still glaring at Derek rather than looking at him. Stiles doesn't like that look; it's even worse than the mulish gonna-argue-with-Stiles look. It's the nasty look Toby was wearing the time he got into a fight with his ex boyfriend's new partner and got them all barred from The Shanty when they'd gone into Eureka.

"He's the reason, isn't he?" Toby snaps, finally looking at Stiles again.

"What? What reason? What are you even talking about?"

"You know! The reason why you haven't wanted to have anything to do with me since you went back home."

"No. Would you please just go away now?" Stiles tries to push the door closed, but annoyingly, Toby is quicker than him and pushes hard on the other side, forcing him to take a step back.

"Was your dad even actually sick? Or did you just go home to fuck some random creeper?"

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from yelling at Toby; objectively, he knows that Toby is pissed off because he's been stood up earlier and is painfully aware that by being up in his room and in bed with Derek he very likely making Toby feel even worse. The undoubtedly copious amount of tequila he's drunk also hasn't helped improve his mood but still, accusing him of lying about his dad being sick is a low fucking blow. His shock at the accusation must show on his face because Toby blanches for a minute before rallying himself and continuing with his tirade.

"Well, did you?" Toby shouts again. Stiles hears Derek get off the bed behind him, feels the warmth of him against his back as he comes to stand just behind him and scowls at Toby. He wishes there was some subtle way for him to tell Derek not to worry, that he and Toby frequently have loud screaming matches, which is why Hannah and Craig are nowhere to be seen; they've seen and heard it all about a hundred times before.

"I think you should listen to Stiles," Derek tells Toby quietly. "And go away."

"Fuck you. No one asked you for an opinion. This is nothing to do with you. This is between me and Stiles," Toby snarls, pushing his way into the room.

"Get the fuck out," Stiles snaps, letting go of the door and grabbing hold of Toby's arm; unfortunately, although Toby is shorter than him, he's also stronger than him and easily pulls out of his grip. He stands in the middle room and narrows his eyes at Derek; which, yeah, Stiles realises that it probably doesn't look great that Derek is standing there in his underwear looking impressively Derek-like.

"So what was I?" Toby snaps as he wheels around to face Stiles. "Just another name on your long list of casual fucks?"

"Yes," Stiles yells back. "That's exactly what you were. Just like I was to you. Because you wanted someone to make Cole jealous. Don't pretend you've got some moral high ground here."

"You're a fucking user," Toby continues. "You knew. You knew that I want – that I wanted more from you but you still went off and fucked some dickhead who doesn't give two shits about you. You know what you are, Stiles? You're a user and a fucking douchebag," He pauses to catch his breath and narrows his eyes. "No wonder you're incapable of having an actual relationship. You're barely even fucking human– "

Before Toby can continue with his rant, Derek gives a poorly disguised snort of laughter at his last comment which just serves to set him off again.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" He barks at Derek; Stiles rolls his eyes when Derek backs up, like he's not capable of tearing Toby to shreds. "You know he cried for like a week after he came back after getting fucked by your sorry ass? We all had to hear all about how you'd spent years treating him like shit and now you're being a head fuck and he doesn't know what to do about all the secret feelings he's got for you."

"Toby!" Stiles snaps; apparently the concept heartfelt and above all, confidential discussions are lost on him. "Get the fuck out of my room. Right now."

"Don't you worry," Toby sneers, "I'll get out of your room. I'll get out of your life too while I'm at it". And then once you're done banging that idiot you'll have no one to cry to about how sad you are and how much he's hurt you and boo hoo. Poor ickle Stiles."

"Out!"

Toby finally, thankfully, does as he's asked, slamming Stiles' door hard enough that the framed poster on the wall beside it rattles. Stiles can't bring himself to look at Derek; he's had plenty of drunken arguments with Toby in the past and has always given as good as he's got, not caring whether they've got an audience or not. Generally though, those arguments have never resulted in painfully embarrassing information being shared with the wrong people. He'd confided in Toby about his feelings for Derek in a moment of weakness and had never thought for one minute that Toby would have used it against him like that.

"Are you OK?" Derek asks cautiously.

Stiles sits down heavily on the end of the bed; if he hadn't been feeling like crap before, he definitely is now. He can hear Hannah's raised voice from downstairs where she's either trying to calm Toby down or is chewing him out; he's not entirely sure. Derek sits down beside him, keeping a careful distance between them; he looks as though he's worried that Stiles might start crying again.

"Can we get out of here?" Stiles asks quietly, rubbing his face before running his hands through his hair. "I really need to not be here right now."

Derek nods, resting his hand flat between Stiles' shoulder blades for a moment before getting up to search for his jeans. Stiles ignores him as he struggles into a pair of sweats and his HSU hoodie, tugging the hood up to hide his face from Derek, because he's got that stupid earnest look on his face again, like he wants Stiles to sit and talk feelings with him and he really doesn't want to look at that right now. As they make their way down the stairs and past the lounge, he's slightly mollified when he hears Hannah angrily berating a still raging Toby. He grabs hold of Derek's sleeve and drags him out of the front door, pausing only to grab his battered sneakers before stepping out onto the front porch and taking a deep breath of the cold night air.

"Want to go for a drive?" Derek asks, pulling his keys from his jacket pocket and nodding towards where the Camaro is parked up on the other side of the street.

"Please," Stiles nods. He follows Derek to the car, throwing his sneakers down into the foot well, figuring that he can put them on later if he needs them. When Derek asks him where he wants to go, he directs him out of town and up towards McKinleyville and the ocean.


	3. Chapter 3

It's cold on the beach, much colder than Stiles was expecting and he pulls his hands up into the sleeves of his hoodie to try and keep himself warm. He's been living in Arcata for over a year now and is convinced it's much colder than it ever was in Beacon Hills.

"Is he always like that?" Derek asks, not looking up from where he's repeatedly digging his hand into the sand and letting the grains run through his fingers.

"He's not a bad guy," Stiles sighs, holding one sleeve over his mouth so he can blow warm air onto his hand; he feels like he needs to defend Toby despite everything he's just said, because even though he's currently up near the top of Stiles' mental 'douchebags I want to punch in the face' list, he's still one of his best friends and they've never fallen out for longer than a week or so since he met him during freshman orientation week. "He's drunk and pissed and we used to, uh, you know, pretty much every Friday night before I came home last month."

"Oh," Derek goes quiet for a while, continuing to play with the sand. He's staring at the waves crashing on the shore, a thoughtful expression just visible on his face as the sky starts to lighten behind them. "Why exactly am I head fuck?"

"Seriously? You know why. I'm not having this conversation with you."

"You're the one that ran off after we slept together," Derek shrugs, dropping his handful of sand and brushing his hands against his jeans to get rid of the remaining grains. "Maybe you're the head fuck."

"You knew it was just a one off thing before anything even happened," Stiles grouses; the argument with Toby has left him feeling unusually on edge and he's really not in the mood to get into it with Derek. "So don't pretend you're all hurt that I didn't stick around the next morning to talk feelings with you. And you know what, if you'd just strapped on a pair when I was still in high school and told me that you liked me then maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation now. You're the head fuck, not me," He glares at Derek, narrowing his eyes as Derek opens his mouth to say something. "And if you say sorry right now, I swear to God, I'm going to punch you in the fucking throat."

"I wasn't going to say sorry," Derek huffs. "I was going to ask why you thought sleeping with your roommate was a good idea."

"Seriously? You're going to judge me for something that has absolutely nothing to do with you? Not that it's any of your business, but he wasn't my roommate when all that started. And I really don't know why I'm having to explain myself to you."

"So you really haven't slept with him since, uh, us?"

"Also none of your business," Stiles snaps. "And no, I haven't had sex with Toby since you. I haven't done it with anyone."

It's just light enough that he catches the self satisfied smile that flashes across Derek's face.

"Really Derek? You're going to be smug because I'm not getting any?"

"I'm not being smug," Derek replies, digging his hand into the sand again and throwing a handful over Stiles' bare feet. "I just – look, you know I have feelings for you. I wouldn't exactly be thrilled if you told me you'd come back up here and slept with a load of people."

"Yeah, well, don't assume it's all because of your influence that I haven't," Stiles replies grumpily. Because that's a complete lie; it's entirely Derek's fault that he hasn't wanted to hook up with anyone.

"Lie," Derek murmurs.

"Oh fuck off," Stiles sighs in exasperation. He's gotten so used to not having to deal with werewolves on a day to day basis that he's forgotten how to convincingly lie to them. Given that at one point in high school, his entire social circle was werewolves or werewolf hunting types, that realisation makes him kind of sad and nostalgic.

Derek laughs quietly and throws another handful of sand in his direction. "You'd be pissed off too. If someone you liked was sleeping with someone that wasn't you."

"Yeah, well, welcome to my life in high school," Stiles tells him. "Maybe you should just be grateful that I'm not telling you to fuck off and cutting you out of my life, you hypocrite."

"I apologised for that."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt."

Derek falls silent once more and stares out at the ocean; Stiles watches him for a moment before tugging his hood back up and hugging his knees against his chest as he scowls at a pebble a few feet away from them. He tries to focus his mind like Chogan has taught him, tries to channel his energy into moving the pebble, or melting it or something. He doesn't know why his magic seems to have lost it's edge over the last few weeks but he's getting seriously fed up with it. He sighs loudly in frustration, and flops backwards until he's lying prone on the sand.

"Stupid fucking rock," He curses under his breath as he rubs his eyes. There's a sudden crack, loud as a gunshot in the still quiet of the early morning and he sits bolt upright, looking around desperately for it's source.

"Did you do that?" Derek asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Um," Stiles gets to his feet and crosses to where the pebble, or more accurately, the two halves of the pebble, are making little clinking noises as they cool. There's two little puddles of recently molten rock surrounding them. He reaches does the pick one of them up, worried that he's managed to crack the rock in half when he was thinking more of trying to move it; he's pretty sure that's not a good sign in the grand scheme of being in control of his magical abilities. Before he can curl his fingers around it, Derek's stood beside him, his hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Are you stupid?"

"Slept with you didn't I?" Stiles mutters. "So I guess I must be."

Derek just rolls his eyes, like he thinks he's above responding to Stiles' snarky comments. Instead, he nods down at the rock in front of them; "You'll burn yourself if you pick that up."

Stiles scowls at him and doesn't bother telling him that usually he wouldn't, that he's learnt how to put the heat _somewhere else_, that Chogan has taught him how to stick his hand into a fire and not get burnt. Besides, he's feeling so unbalanced these last few weeks that he might not even be able to do that anymore. He settles for kicking sand over the cooling rock halves and pulls out of Derek's grasp.

They're still standing close together, slightly closer than Stiles feels comfortable with and he shifts awkwardly, looking down at his bare feet.

"What now?"

"Hmm?"

"You're looking at me funny," Stiles complains as he wedges his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

"I want to kiss you," Derek admits, reaching out and hooking one finger into Stiles' hoodie pocket where it brushes against the back of his hand.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if I want you to," Stiles replies, taking a step back so Derek is forced to pull his hand away. He turns away slightly when he sees the hurt look that crosses Derek's face when he realises he isn't lying; he sighs and looks back at Derek, feeling as though he owes him some kind of explanation, even though he knows deep down that he really doesn't. "Look, it's just that I spent a long time thinking I'd got over you, after you told me you didn't want to know me –"

"I never said I didn't –" Derek interrupts.

"Could you maybe shut up and let me finish?" Stiles says with a frown. "Because you know what, if you'd bothered telling me how you felt and let me make up my own mind with what to do with that information, maybe we'd be on the same page about all this right now. But you didn't and we're not. And you know what, it took me a long time to get over the fact that I actually had the balls to admit that I was into you and then you just told me to get lost."

"I told you –"

"Yeah, you told me three years later that you had feelings for me and –"

"I still have," Derek mutters, scowling down at his boots.

"Could you please just stop interrupting me!?" Stiles barks, clenching his fists and glaring at Derek. "Because if you do actually like me or whatever it is then you'll shut up and listen to what I've got to say, even if it involves me telling you that you're a sack of shit. OK? It isn't just about what you want."

Derek nods dumbly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

"And yeah, so maybe Toby was a douche tonight for telling you that I cried over you when I came back up here, but it's true. Because I thought I'd finally gotten over you after you made it clear that you were never going to have anything to do with me, and having sex with you just made me realise that I haven't gotten over you as much as I wanted to. And you showing up here just makes everything – makes me more confused."

"You regret it then? Sleeping with me?"

Stiles sighs loudly and shrugs his shoulders. "Satisfied my curiosity," he finally replies, grinning when Derek scowls at him. "It wasn't horrible, let's put it that way."

"Wasn't horrible?" Derek huffs, jamming his hands in to the front pockets of his jeans. He watches Stiles for a moment longer, his head tilted slightly to one side. "Do you like me?"

Stiles frowns, initially feeling thrown by the question and then annoyed because he knows exactly why Derek is asking it so bluntly; he wants to see if he can hear Stiles lie.

"Does it matter?" Stiles asks, trying to buy himself some time as he tries to remember the technique he used to use to passably lie to Scott.

"It matters to me," Derek shrugs. "Do you?"

"Yes," Stiles hisses through gritted teeth, "I like you. But you can wipe that smug fucking grin off your face, because I still don't really trust you."

"Oh."

"Don't look so butt hurt. Last time I trusted you enough to admit that I liked you, you threw it back in my face in probably the most dickheaded way possible. How do I know you're not going to do that to me again?"

"How do I know you're not going to sleep with me and sneak out in the night again?" Derek counters. "You knew that I liked you and wanted more from you. And guess what? Waking up on my own the next morning? That _hurt_."

"I left you a note."

"That made it worse."

"What? That makes no sense. Would you rather I'd just ditched completely without any explanation?"

"No!" Derek snaps, a flash of red creeping into his eyes for a second. "I'd rather you'd have stayed there with me and not run off like I was something to be ashamed of."

"I had to go to the hospital," Stiles mumbles. He's seen Derek angry more times than he can count; it used to seem like it was his base state of being back when they first met, but he's never heard him sounding so wounded or admitting how he feels about something so easily.

"Don't make excuses. You could have woken me up or gone later. You didn't have to just go."

"I wanted to go without speaking to you, OK?" Stiles sighs. "I knew if I'd stayed you'd have wanted to talk about it and about how you liked me and I wasn't ready for that. Is it so bad that I didn't want to get hurt by you again?"

"You don't have the monopoly on feeling hurt Stiles," Derek says, sounding thoroughly frustrated and fed up. "You're not stupid, you must at least have guessed how I'd have felt when I woke up and you weren't there."

Stiles shrugs; he wants to apologise for running out because having Derek standing in front of him with that stupid sad look on his face is making him forget how to think properly. He looks away from Derek, thinking idly that perhaps him running out has finally made them even; it's not a particularly pleasant thought so he doesn't say it aloud and settles for glaring at the ocean instead. After several long, awkward minutes, he hears Derek say his name quietly, tentatively as though he's worried Stiles might cry again

"I wasn't ashamed," Stiles murmurs in response.

"What?"

"Before. You said I was ashamed of sleeping with you; I wasn't...I'm not."

"You didn't tell Scott about it though," Derek huffs.

"I don't tell Scott a lot of things these days," Stiles replies. "I'm – I don't know if me and Scott are really friends any more. Not proper friends, anyway. He's always with Isaac. And the Deucalion thing seems to have just made things worse between us," He takes a deep breath and glances at Derek. "If I was ashamed, I wouldn't have told Toby. I think he got sick of hearing about you and how I had a fucking crush on someone again for the first time in like, forever and about how I thought I still hated you a little but I wanted to go back home to see you again anyway."

"Can we start over?" Derek asks tiredly. "I don't want to fight with you."

"What do you want to do?" Stiles asks, raising his eyebrow slightly.

"You know what. I want to kiss you," Derek replies, taking a half step closer. "Can I?"

Stiles regards him for a minute longer before nodding and closing the gap between them. He grabs hold of Derek's hand and laces their fingers together. He watches in fascination as Derek leans in, closing his eyes as his lips gently brush against Stiles' own. It's different to the last time they kissed, he thinks as he gingerly opens his mouth a little, forcing Derek to do the same so he can lick into his mouth; it's slower and sweeter, and not the sort of kissing he's particularly used to. Derek's making delicious little moaning sounds as his tongue brushes against Stiles' own and he curls his free hand around the back of his neck to stop him from pulling away; that just serves to make Derek moan louder.

Huh; kissing on the beach while the sky slowly turns from pink to blue above them. It's definitely not how he'd expected his Friday night to turn out.


End file.
